The Devil...the Prowde Spirite...cannot Endure To Be

It Is Only Through Mystery And Madness That The Soul Is Revealed.

Fond Memory Brings The Light Of Other Days Around Me.

From Plants That Wake When Others Sleep, From Timid Jasmine Buds That Keep Their Odour To Themselves All Day, But When The Sunlight Dies Away Let The Delicious Secret Out To Every Breeze That Roams About.

Love Doesn't Demand Perfection, But It Does Ask You To Give Yourself With Less Reserve Than You'd Prefer.

You May Break, You May Shatter The Vase, If You Will, But The Scent Of The Roses Will Hang Round It Still.